


Infinite Arms

by orphan_account



Category: Social Network (2010) RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, Pining, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-23
Updated: 2011-06-23
Packaged: 2017-10-31 02:24:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/338856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Jesse is wishing and wanting and hoping for someone standing right in front of him, open arms and waiting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Infinite Arms

**Author's Note:**

> First fic I ever wrote for the TSN Fandom.

Jesse can't remember when the things in his apartment stopped being labeled "his" and were instead labeled "theirs." The progression was gradual, he guesses. Probably happened somewhere between when Andrew didn’t ask how Jesse liked his eggs anymore because he just knew and when Jesse first noticed the extra toothbrush in the holder at the bathroom sink.

  
In the mornings, Andrew can always be found at their kitchen table, and it’s their coffee maker that’s brewing, and the bowl that he's eating his cereal out of is one of their bowls.   
  
Though the progression between them may have been gradual, almost too gradual for him to notice at first, things had still happened entirely too fast. Especially for two guys who finished filming a movie together nearly three months ago and who were now running around doing both press for the movie and working on other, separate projects. But no matter what business they get into during the day, or for a few days, or even a couple weeks, they always return home. Home, that is, being Jesse's apartment in New York, which consists of two bedrooms and about four cats (at the moment – more to come, as promised) and practically seven different brands of cereal in the cupboard and one Andrew. One Andrew, who has, inevitably, made Jesse both the happiest and most miserable human being on the planet.   
  
The thing is, no matter how domesticated their life together has become, they are still just friends. At least, that’s what Jesse has set in his mind. That’s all they are, nothing more. Jesse ignores the jokes Justin makes and some of the creepy comments on the YouTube videos Andrew forces him to watch (he gets some kind of sick enjoyment in reliving Jesse’s awkward chair-rubbing and his own terrible ramblings, which Jesse finds endearing but saying those things are against bro-code) and he sticks with the excuse that they’re just close, yeah, they’re good friends. Great friends. Honestly, Andrew’s the best friend he’s ever had.   
  
But there's this thing Jesse does, sometimes.   
  
Sometimes Jesse thinks about things too hard and he has stupid, inexplicable anxiety attacks.   
  
Sometimes Jesse thinks about things too hard.   
  
Sometimes Jesse thinks.   
  
Andrew's just left one morning, and when Jesse looks into the spare bedroom that has turned into the place Andrew sleeps at night, the bed is uncharacteristically well made. It definitely shouldn't bother Jesse as much as it does, but Andrew didn't leave a note, or text him, or anything at all. He spends the day worrying, as he tends to do. You know, maybe Andrew had to leave suddenly for an interview or maybe something is actually wrong or maybe he told Jesse earlier, but he just forgot, or simply wasn't listening, or maybe... His thoughts parade on.   
  
A few of these thoughts calm him, others make him worry even more, but since he is Jesse, he doesn't call. Andrew would probably think that was weird. Think that Jesse's a freak. Want to move out. He’s a grown man; he doesn't need to note his whereabouts at all times to Jesse.   
  
It's evening now, and Jesse keeps doing that thinking thing the entire day, which inevitably leads to an anxiety attack that he's glad Andrew isn't there to see.   
  
It's slow at first, his breathing turns abnormal and he's just staring at the wall, thinking. A terrible headache. He doesn't know if he's blinking or not and he doesn't know if his heart rate is steady - he just knows he can't breathe. The air has escaped the room way too quickly.   
  
Suddenly his head is screaming where is he why do I need him so fucking much why can’t I just be alone what am I supposed to do with myself when he can't be here all the time.   
  
He tries to breathe, tries to blink, tries to make his head stop screaming, but he just feels his feet carrying him back and forth and back and forth across the living room and he's looking down and he's looking up and he's clenching his fists and he wants to know why he's so scared of everything all of a sudden, and he wants to know why he does this and he wants someone to be there with him because he feels terribly, terribly alone but at the same time he doesn't want anyone to see him like this, and he wants to stop and he just wants.   
  
Jesse's shaking his head back and forth when the door opens, and he doesn't even acknowledge Andrew's entrance in hopes that maybe, if he pretends he's not there then maybe he simply won't be anymore.   
  
It is several moments before Andrew speaks, but when he does, it stings in a weird way, and the sound of his voice echoes in Jesse’s head like a cymbal crash.   
  
"Jesse," Andrew says softly, carefully, pushing the door closed slowly.   
  
Jesse has closed his eyes by now because he can see the tall figure of him out of his peripheral vision and he can't take that for very long. He shakes his head again and again, wanting and wishing and hoping this would just stop.   
  
"No," Jesse says, breathlessly, answering a question that wasn’t asked. Eyes closed. Head shaking back and forth.   
  
"Hey, come on. It's me." His friend takes a tentative step forward, like he's literally walking on eggshells. Like Jesse might crumble if his movements are too sudden. Jesse honestly thinks he might.   
  
"I-I-I..." Jesse shuts his eyes so tightly that he sees twisted patterns behind his eyelids; and his fists are still clenched still.   
  
Why do these things happen?   
  
He's still pacing. He's pulling at his hair and mumbling and blinking and biting at his lip. He's thinking everything that's terrible and always wanting the wrong things at the wrong times and he's just lost. He needs something but he doesn't know what, and he's afraid of everything but he doesn't know why.   
  
"Please, Jess. S-Stop, stop for a moment," Andrew begs, voice still soft but almost breaking. "You're hyperventilating. Just, stop."   
  
He doesn't stop. He's going a thousand miles an hour and getting nowhere. He's running up and down the same flight of metaphorical stairs repeatedly. He's screaming to a room of nothingness. He's so, so scared but he doesn't know how to talk to anyone anymore. Even Andrew. Especially Andrew.   
  
Andrew sighs, but he doesn't look away from Jesse. Jesse's had anxiety attacks before, but none like this. He's incapable of even vocalizing his thoughts. He wants to help Jesse but he feels terribly useless. And it hurts seeing him like this, in this state, and Andrew’s so afraid he’s going to say or do something wrong.   
  
"Jesse," he takes another step forward, slowly. "Take a breath, Jess. I'm here."   
  
And as if that's all he'd needs to hear, Jesse stops mid-pace. Opens his eyes, focuses on the floor for a moment. He's still. Breathing heavily, hands still shaking. His mind is still going, but he eventually turns to stare at his best friend. Andrew stares back, eyes silently pleading for him to say something.   
  
Nearly as soon as Jesse looks up at Andrew, he looks back down again. Chews on his lip. Clenches and unclenches his fists. He can barely breathe. He hopes this isn't what love is like. He hopes this isn't how things are going to be for him, now. He hopes that if this is what love is like, that he can stop loving Andrew. That he can just love him as a friend. He hopes...   
  
When he starts shaking his head again, it's like Andrew can feel it happening. It's like he can feel Jesse's lungs shutting down and that lump swelling in Jesse's throat and his knees giving out before any of it happens. So he practically leaps to Jesse, grabbing a hold of his shoulders, while Jesse stares at him for a moment, teary-eyed, until he falls apart like he never has before.   
  
And Jesse cries. Grabs fistfuls of Andrew's jacket. Sobs but doesn't say any real words. Lets himself be held closer than he's ever let anyone hold him before. Lets his guard down for the first time, lets himself shrink and shake and be broken and be mended all at once.   
  
Andrew holds him and pets his hair and wishes he knew how to save him.   
  
That night, Jesse lies in bed and wishes for a man who's in the bedroom right next to him. He wishes for a man who he sees nearly every day, who Jesse spends more time with than anyone else. He wishes for a man who he has so much of – but at the same time has nothing that he wants. Jesse wishes and wants and hopes and dreams, but he never really sleeps. He hasn't lately. Hasn't much of his life.   
  
Lying on his side, staring at the blank wall, he sighs. He thinks everything that's terrible: He always seems to love all the wrong people. He's extremely needy and neurotic and depressed, and he’s got serious anxiety issues. He's nothing Andrew could ever want. He doesn't even understand why Andrew's here, living with him. Being his friend. Making him laugh. It doesn't make sense but it's all Jesse can ever get, so he takes it and goes places he doesn't like with Andrew and tries Andrew's weird cooking experiments and tries his hardest to be something like normal.   
  
The white walls are too white all of a sudden, so Jesse closes his eyes as tight as he can and rolls over on his back. He thinks for a long time about making Andrew laugh and cats and really old books and the things that usually make him happy, but Andrew overpowers them all and he suddenly feels very fragile. His lungs feel tight and his ribcage bare. His heart feels overworked and the rhythm several beats too slow. He feels entirely too fragile. Like if he turns to lie on his side again, his whole body will crumble.   
  
As some sick and twisted experiment, he does it, but instead of physically falling apart, he just cries again.   
  
He tries to keep quiet. This time, there are people sleeping that he cannot bother with his stupid, petty issues. He grips onto the sheets and the pillow and tries to find comfort in something, anything, but the sheets are unbearably white and clean too, like the walls, and he just feels so horribly empty. It feels like he's missing something, a part of himself, but he doesn't know what. He keeps thinking about this and keeps crying, and unconsciously keeps wanting Andrew to hold him again, instead of his own frail arms.   
  
Jesse doesn't notice a figure opening the door, tip-toeing into the room. Until the bed shifts with Andrew's weight, Jesse is completely unaware anyone has come in.   
  
He doesn't stop crying because he doesn't know how to anymore. He doesn't remember the last time he's cried before today, let alone like this.   
  
"Shh," Andrew whispers as he shifts his body as close as possible to Jesse's. He's curled around him, arm around Jesse's waist, their bodies pressed together, tracing patterns under his t-shirt. Into his ear, Andrew says, "Please don't, Jess." Jesse doesn't know what that means so he keeps crying.   
  
Andrew buries his face into Jesse's curls. Jesse grips onto the bed sheets still, because even though Andrew's holding him, he feels like he still needs to find comfort in something more concrete. There's nothing. He squeezes his eyes shut and turns over suddenly, pressing his face into Andrew's neck. Grips onto Andrew's back. Falls apart again and again.   
  
It's the closest he's ever been to Andrew, in that moment. He fully expects to wake up tomorrow to another missing Andrew, but this time, all his belongings will be gone and there will be a note on the refrigerator that says, "Sorry. You're freaking me out, lately. I can't live with someone so emotionally unstable. Talk to you soon, Andrew."   
  
But now Andrew's whispering perfect things in his ear that make Jesse never want to leave this moment, right here. He's stopped crying, shuddering every few moments from the hysteria, but Andrew keeps whispering, "You're fine. You're alright, love."   
  
Jesse doesn't know what to do with this, now. He doesn’t know what it’s supposed to be. Things feel awkward all of a sudden. So he kind of pulls away from Andrew, but still has a pretty tight grip on his arm, and Andrew stares at him with this wide-eyed look of worry, like he thinks Jesse will start screaming or do something outlandish.   
  
But Jesse doesn't, and just stares at him. Andrew stares back. Stares at his lips. Bites his own lip, and meets his eyes again. Repeats this about four times before blurting, "God, you're so beautiful, Jess."   
  
Jesse wants to cry again but then he’s really tired of crying. Jesse wants Andrew to leave but never wants him to leave at the same time. He just wants Andrew to love him like he loves him. But he knows this is impossible and wants to stop wanting things he'll never have. He just wants.   
  
Since Jesse never replies, it's quiet. He doesn't know if he should say something and he doesn't know if he can. He feels bad, for Andrew. He feels bad that he woke Andrew. He feels bad that Andrew has to put up with his shit all the time. He feels bad that Andrew has been sucked into this mess, and Jesse knows that Andrew feels responsible for picking up the pieces when he falls apart. He feels so, so bad.   
  
"S-s-sorry," Jesse stutters. It feels like the first real word he's said for a long while. The first word he's meant in a while.   
  
The thing that happens next is the best and worst thing that's ever happened to Jesse in his entire life, ever.   
  
It’s Andrew's lips, on his. They are miraculous. They are pressing so hard on Jesse's. Humming against his mouth. They are fierce and passionate and wonderful.   
  
It’s everything.   
  
Jesse doesn't know how he's doing it, but he's kissing back. He needs Andrew so much. He's needed this for so long, and it's here. Here. What he's wanted.   
  
Jesse is breathless within a few seconds, and he pulls back. He's sure he looks pretty awestruck. Andrew's eyes are blinking furiously like he's confused, but he's smiling like he knows exactly what everything means.   
  
To be honest, Jesse's tired all of a sudden. He sighs and lays his head down on the pillow. Yawns. Andrew laughs at the sudden mood change, and presses his lips to Jesse's temple. The kiss burns into Jesse's skull the entire night, seeps into his dreams and wanders through his unconscious soul.   
  


_xxx_

  
When Jesse wakes up that morning, Andrew is sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning over to tie his shoes. He doesn't realize that Jesse has woken up until he's gotten up and walked to the door, and when he turns around, Jesse is staring at him.   
  
Andrew looks down, then up. Smiles, awkward. It's not him.   
  
"Hi."   
  
Jesse stares. Clears his throat a few times, before, "Hi."   
  
"Did you, uh." Andrew seems lost. Andrew’s never lost, not really. "...Sleep well?"   
  
He shrugs, not being able to look at Andrew. "Sure."   
  
A few more minutes of silence. Andrew looks like he wants to leave but he doesn't seem entirely sure about it. He's just standing there, by the door. Quiet. And that hurts like hell.   
  
So Jesse blurts, "Listen, about last night-"   
  
"No," Andrew whispers, shutting his eyes.   
  
Jesse feels his face grow hot immediately. He tugs at the neckline of his shirt. Breathes in and out.   
  
Of course, Jesse thinks. "I'm sorry. I – I am. Really."   
  
Andrew sighs, shaking his head, like Jesse isn’t getting it. Whatever it is. There’s something thick in the air and it’s leaking anxiety into Jesse’s thoughts. He wants things to be better after last night. He does.   
  
"Do you regret it?"   
  
Jesse makes a noise kind of like a laugh at first, but too awkward. "We didn't, we didn't- have sex, or something Andrew. We...we didn't. W-We kissed. It was…” He feels like he’s digging himself in an uncomfortable hole, so he lets it end there. Unfinished.   
  
He’d never used the word awkward to explain Andrew or any of his feelings involving Andrew or being with Andrew before last night. It’s unnerving. He wishes he didn’t ruin absolutely everything all the time. Jesse does this.   
  
"That doesn't mean you can't regret it."   
  
Jesse blinks, considering this. Does he? He feels like this is a trick question. Andrew is being weird and not much like him, leaving Jesse feeling awkward and out of place like he normally is in most situations in his life. If he says "no," Andrew might be weirded out and leave. If he says "yes," he could hurt Andrew and ruin anything that might happen.   
  
"Okay," Andrew says, like he’s had enough of the silence, and turns his back to Jesse. "Alright."   
  
This alarms Jesse. No, no, he can’t leave. No.   
  
"Andrew, please, I’m so sorry-"   
  
“You’re always- You’re always so fucking sorry.” Jesse’s never seen Andrew like this before. They’ve never fought. He’s never, never… “And for what, even? What the bloody hell are you so sorry for, Jess?”   
  
Well. Jesse’s sorry for a lot of things. For being such a pathetic human being. For causing all of these problems in Andrew’s life. For being a terrible friend. For needing Andrew. For wanting too many things. For getting attached to Andrew, and so suddenly. He’s sorry for all of these reasons, and more, but he knows Andrew well enough to say that he’d refute every single one with denial. He’s too good of a friend. So Jesse’s silent, once again.   
  
"Just. Just- I'll give you a call." Andrew’s expression looks pained. Confused. So many things that Jesse is not used to seeing in Andrew’s expression. It hurts because it’s so unusual to see Andrew like this, but also because he knows he’s the cause of it. Fuck. "I'll. I'll call you. O-okay? I...I."   
  
And then Andrew shuts the bedroom door and he's gone and Jesse doesn't know what to do with himself for the second day in a row.   
  
Jesse works the entire day on just not having another anxiety attack.   
  
Jesse’s lying on the kitchen floor, staring at the door, and it’s so melodramatic and stupid and pathetic. He contemplates suicide the entire time but cannot seem to bring himself to stand up and do something productive. He knows that he takes pills that are supposed to stop those kinds of feelings, and he’s supposed to call Dr. Cole if he ever has those thoughts, but he’s has neglected taking them for at least the past week, maybe longer, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t.   
  
Maybe he wouldn’t feel this way if Andrew wanted him longer than ten second kisses after meltdowns during the wee hours of the morning. Maybe if Andrew wanted him now, or last week, or six months ago. Maybe he wouldn’t feel this way, maybe. He hopes. He wishes. He wants…   
  
And maybe Jesse regrets the kiss, now. But not for the same reason Andrew probably does. He regrets it because it made Andrew react this way. He should’ve known. Things are not supposed to work out for Jesse. He should’ve known.   
  
Jesse hears the door knob twist, and he sits up suddenly. He watches Andrew appear in the apartment, but as soon as he sees him, he wishes he hadn’t.   
  
Andrew looks seven different kinds of broken and it’s unsettling and probably the most terrible thing Jesse has ever seen in his entire life. Ever. It’s worse knowing that he is the direct cause of it all. He’s the reason. He probably made Andrew feel horrible last night, wailing for ages, and Andrew felt obligated to go into his room and comfort him because he is just that good guy, and then he’d known all along that Jesse is in love with him, so he kissed him out of pity and guilt but didn’t realize his terrible, terrible mistake until the morning.   
  
Jesse is a horrendous person. Jesse needs to keep all of his feelings locked up inside, secure, from now on. Jesse can’t let this happen again. He’s got to keep his walls up; he’s got to remember that. Even with Andrew. Especially with Andrew.   
  
Andrew is probably here to tell Jesse he is leaving, though. Of course.   
  
Jesse would stand up but he can’t move, so he just looks up at his friend with these darting, nervous eyes and sits there, palms sweating and fingers shaking with nerves.   
  
Andrew gulps, eyes on the cabinets above Jesse’s head. “I was going to call you,” is all he says, but it seems like it took him a while to gather the words. He furrows his brow, but still hasn’t looked at Jesse. “But then…”   
  
The words hang in the air, like they’ve lost so much. They don’t know how to say anything to each other anymore. It’s terrible. It’s the worst feeling, knowing all that they’ve built together has just, has just evaporated. It was there and now it isn’t. Jesse hates himself.   
  
“You don’t,” Jesse chokes out, staring at Andrew the entire time. Willing his eyes to meet his. “You don’t have to explain anything to me, Andrew. I understand.”   
  
Andrew squeezes his eyes shut and makes a pained expression, like he has a bad headache or something. Jesse thinks that headache might be named “I Have A Weirdo Best Friend And I Feel Bad For Him.” He regrets so much, now. He regrets everything. He’s so sorry.   
  
“You don’t, though. You don’t.”   
  
Jesse doesn’t know what this is supposed to mean, but he accepts this. He believes Andrew when he says he doesn’t understand. He probably doesn’t. Andrew wouldn’t just tell that Jesse he doesn’t understand if he really does, and so he accepts this. Jesse just wishes that he did understand.   
  
“Then…explain,” Jesse decides to say.   
  
Jesse expects a pause for thought, or maybe a few stutters of incoherence or confusion or anger. He expects maybe a silence for moment or two, followed by unsure sentences full of things that Andrew is usually afraid to say to him. He expects all of these things and more, but what happens is none of those things.   
  
Andrew explodes. He is a rush of emotions, sputtering things out like they’ve been nailed to his throat for ages. It takes a while for Jesse to keep up with it all, but he listens. He listens.   
  
“You don’t understand. You cannot possibly understand, because you are Jesse. And I think you’re an incredible, amazing, remarkable human being.” Andrew’s still not looking at him, but Jesse can tell that he means what he’s saying, which does weird things to him.   
  
“But you are Jesse, and you are stuck in your small, familiar, insecure world of Jesse that it seems to be difficult for you to understand worlds outside of your own all the time. I used to think for a while that you understood my world, that we were in perfect tune with each other. And I think that’s something that can happen again. I think we could. I think…” Jesse hopes they can. He hopes things aren’t ruined for them.   
  
After taking a breath, Andrew starts again. “You mean so, so, so much to me, Jess. I don’t think you can just know what I’m feeling right now, though, because you are going through something extremely difficult right now emotionally and I know that it can mess with things like your judgment. I didn’t leave for the terrible reasons you probably thought the entire day, and I’m sorry I left. I-I just, I needed to leave, and try to gather my thoughts and hope that maybe what happened last night wasn’t simply just me throwing myself at a sad, broken boy th-that just needs my help. I need you, but you need me more right now, and I’m a terrible friend. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Jess.”   
  
For the first time since he entered the apartment, Andrew meets his eyes. They look, they look so…   
  
It’s funny, because for a second Jesse feels like they’re standing on set for The Social Network, and Andrew’s pouring his heart out into what his character’s saying, what his character’s feeling. It’s like it’s Andrew’s script, like it’s character bleed, but the scariest part of it all is that Jesse knows that it isn’t. It isn’t at all. This is Andrew, at his rawest state.   
  
Jesse thinks about his anxiety, how he always needs people, and how he feels like no one ever needs him. And here’s Andrew saying that he needs Jesse, but he feels like he is throwing himself at him. He’s so wrong. Jesse thinks about all of this, and what it means, and how wrong he’s been.   
  
And because he’s Jesse, his first instinct is to deny it all. “You-you can’t, you can’t mean-“   
  
“But,” Andrew interrupts, smile creeping on his face, stepping closer to Jesse’s figure still sitting on the kitchen floor. “I do. I mean exactly that.”   
  
There are so many things left unsaid in this moment. So many things that need to be cleared up, that desperately need to be confirmed. Things that are important to Jesse, things that he really needs to hear directly from Andrew’s lips.   
  
But right now Andrew has set himself beside Jesse, and he’s propped up against the stove. So close. Jesse is searching in Andrew’s eyes, for something, but all he sees is wishes and wants and hopes swimming through his irises.   
  
There are so many things Jesse needs to hear, but right now, he can only kiss Andrew. So he does.   
  
Maybe things might’ve been easier if Jesse knew that Andrew had wanted him all along. Maybe if Jesse didn’t wish and want and hope and dream for things to happen, and tried for them instead, they would’ve been here months ago. Maybe. Maybe things would’ve been easier, but they wouldn’t be as strong if they hadn’t. They wouldn’t be, not at all. He doesn’t think it matters all that much anymore, because things are good now. Things are very good. The best they’ve ever been. He feels it in his unsteady heartbeat right now, but it’s not because he’s nervous or anxious or overwhelmed. It’s because this is everything.   
  
With his lips pressed to Andrew’s still, Jesse can feel his anxiety melting away and the ropes of doubt that had always tied him down suddenly breaking free. And when Andrew smiles into the kiss, bringing his hand to cup the side of Jesse’s face, it’s everything.


End file.
